I can't think of a Title
by Viresse430
Summary: This is one of two versions of mine, having to do with Sands right after the end. El shows up and there will probably be other appearances. I suck at summaries. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nothing in this story is mine except a couple of the characters and the plot. I wonder if I could buy Sands.or at least borrow him.srry on to the story!  
  
This is the non-angst version of this story, if you love sad stuff like me, you should read it.  
  
(AN: These: [blah blah] mean the character's talking in Spanish, savvy?)  
  
Ramirez's footsteps faded as he left the shot-up Agent Sands to his fate. Naturally, Sands hadn't expected anything from the retired FBI agent. And at that moment, he was glad to be rid of him. With the loss of his eyes, and his exacted vengeance, his life was over; and he'd rather not prolong it.  
  
[Are you all right Mister?] The kid in the yellow shirt.  
  
"No." Sands answered.  
  
[You will be.] The kid said hopefully. Sands didn't bother with a response. Maybe if he just ignored the kid, he'd go away.that was unlikely.  
  
"Fuck off." Sands said half-heartedly.  
  
[You can come home with me. My Mama can make you better.] The kid said excitedly, ignoring Sands' request.  
  
If Sands hadn't had his eyes torn out by a sadistic cartel doctor, and been shot, he would have made a comment about just how the kid's mom could make him feel better. The kid looked around, no one was coming, and the American was dying slowly in front of him.  
  
[Please Mister. Follow me.] Before Sands could make a sarcastic comment, the kid grabbed his hand and tugged anxiously. [Mama can make you better.] The kid said desperately.  
  
Sands sighed, and gingerly pushed off the wall. Pain shot up his leg, and he fell back.  
  
"Hey kid, I think we're gonna need a taxi." The kid remembered the wad of cash Sands had given him and ran off.  
  
Sands smiled. Finally he could die in peace. This was best for everyone.or at least best for the only person Sands gave a damn about.himself. Sands sank down lower, as he lost his grip on the world.  
  
God damn that fucking kid. Sands thought. He wasn't dead.unless Hell smelled like authentic Mexican food. There was still a pounding pain where his eyes should be, but the bullet wounds were feeling more bearable. Still, the last time he had trusted someone, he had woke up to see a traitorous bitch, and a crazy doctor took his sight. Sands began to panic. I'm gonna freak right out.  
  
[Mister! Are you better?] The kid asked. Sands pushed himself into a sitting position, and felt around. Just old, tattered blankets. Probably all the family owned. [Mister!] The kid pressed.  
  
"Peachy keen." Sands answered distractedly, listening for the sounds of others in the room.  
[Julio! It is time for dinner!] The kid ran out of the room. Sands could hear bits of a conversation between the woman and kid. [.cartels are.too dangerous.] [Look!] The hurried Spanish ceased, and then the woman went on in a lower voice. [.until Papa comes.American] [Thank you Mama!] The kid returned, walking more slowly.  
  
[Here.] The kid said as he put something next to Sands. [Dinner.] It smelled good, and Sands was starving.but he didn't trust this kid. [Please Mister.]  
  
[Julio!] The kid waited, then ran back out of the room.  
  
"Wait!" Sands called. The kid stopped, "Fuck off kid."  
  
(AN2: I love doing author's notes. I'll try and put Ch.3+4 sometime this week, suggestions welcome.but no slash. Srry, can't stand it. 


	2. Chapter 2

(AN) I'm not sure if El or anyone else is going to show up in this fic, so R&R.  
  
The doctor who had removed the bullets came back after dinner, said the usual rest spiel, and left. He said he'd be back in a few more hours to check on him. Sands wasn't planning on being around when that doctor came back with some cartel.  
  
[No. No. The doctor said you shouldn't.] The kid objected.  
  
"Fuck off all ready, kid." Sands successfully got to his feet, but the pain in his leg was almost unbearable. "Where'd you put my guns?" Sands demanded, keeping his weight off his injured leg.  
  
[Mama took them.] The kid answered. [Mama doesn't want guns in her house.]  
  
"Stupid bitch." Sands muttered. He limped forward, his hands searching for something to guide him. The kid grabbed his hand and led him into what he assumed was the kitchen.  
  
[Julio! What are you doing? I told you to leave him with the doctor. Papa is going to punish us both if he sees him!" Sands felt pride at knowing he had been right: he couldn't trust anyone.  
  
[Mama! The doctor said he would be back.]  
  
[Look Mama, give me my guns and I'll be gone.] Sands interrupted in perfect Spanish.  
  
He heard a gasp, and couldn't help but smile. [Sir, I uh.I will get them!] A cupboard opened, and shut with a slam. [Here.] She held out his gun-belts.  
  
"Where?" He asked bitterly. The kid quickly took them from his Mother's hands and put them in Sands'. "See you around, Bitch." "Fuck off kid." Sands said as he walked out of the kitchen, using the wall to guide him.  
  
"See you around!" The kid's mom called in heavily accented English. Sands smiled and kept walking.  
  
The door opened with a slam, and Sands drew his gun, waiting for further noise to correct his aim.  
  
[What the hell are you doing in my house!?] The intruder roared. Sands quickly corrected his aim, and debated pulling the trigger. [Put down the gun gringo!] Sands hesitated. [Wait, I know you! You're the CIA agent everyone's looking for!]  
  
[Papa! He's my friend!] The kid called as he came running. Sands' mind raced with possibilities, but he couldn't see. Couldn't see how "Papa" was reacting to his son and if that could be used to his advantage.  
  
[Shut up Julio! Your "friend" killed Barillo's daughter, and three of his men! Do you know what would happen if I didn't do my job?] "Papa" sounded furious, but he loved his son.  
  
[Papa!] Sands turned toward the kid's voice, pulled out his other gun, and pointed at the kid.  
  
"Hey Papa, why don't you move out of the doorway before the kid here gets shot." In response, a bullet whizzed past Sands' head. Reflexively he turned toward the noise. "Fuck, that almost hit me, bastard." Sands shot in both directions at once, hoping he didn't kill the kid outright.  
  
[Not bad, for a blind man.] "Papa" laughed. Sands quickly turned the other gun in the direction of the laugh and fired. "Papa's" laughter ended in a beautiful death rattle.  
  
[Don't hurt my baby!] "Mama" cried. Sands shrugged and walked forward, tripping over "Papa's" body. [Jose!] Sands heard the woman weeping over her dead husband's body, and felt a surge of pride. The man was dead, and Sands now had his fifth post-eyes kill.  
  
(AN2) I have no idea where this is going. I'm sure I'll figure it out. Anyway, review, it makes me oh so happy. 


	3. Chapter 3

(AN): This is one of a couple possible outcomes to chapter two, so if it sucks, or is to lame or something, tell me in a review and I can try another, savvy?  
  
Sands made it 10 feet away from the house before his injured leg gave out and he fell in the dust. The wound was pouring dark, scarlet blood, staining the dirt.  
  
[I think that's the American.] Someone spoke nearby. Sands kept his hand on his guns, waiting for further noise to clarify the speaker's location.  
  
[What should we do? I hear he has a small fortune on his head.] Another voice.  
  
[He just killed Jose, do you think we should.] the first voice was further away than the second, and sounded weak and whiny.  
  
The second didn't answer, but multiple footsteps were getting nearer. That was enough. Sands drew both guns and fired at the noise. Cries of pain, and falling bodies answered his bullets. He kept firing, not caring if he was hitting men, women, or children. Apparently there had been many of them, and none of them had been prepared for him to be able to defend himself, let alone kill them. In a few moments, their footsteps pounded in the opposite direction.  
  
Sands smiled, the body count had to be at least 10 by now. He had proved it to himself, he was still Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, and he was still able to send Mexican sons-of-bitches to Hell.  
  
He was interrupted in his gleeful musing by a gun barrel on the back of his head.  
  
"Fuck!" He spat. "Ok, Senor, get it over with, I can't stand long, drawn out death scenes."  
  
"So it is true. You are still alive Agent Sands" El.  
  
"Fuck off, 'the' I'm busy at the moment."  
  
"Doing what? Killing innocent people? I should kill you now and do my country a favor."  
  
Sands laughed a dry, humorless laugh. "Peachy idea El. Go ahead. It'll be quicker than the cartels." El hesitated; this wasn't like the Sands he knew.  
  
"Get up." He needed more time to think, he hadn't planned on Sands being alive, and if so, at least not in Mexico.  
  
"Sure." Sands muttered, trying to get up without using his other leg, unsuccessfully. He had to choke back a cry of pain, at the shock waves coming from the wound. He stumbled backwards, losing his grip on his guns and dropping them in the dirt. He finally balanced himself and waited for El's voice, he still had one gun left.  
  
El could tell something was wrong, besides Sands' leg injury. Sands wasn't even looking at him, he seemed to be staring off into space, but El couldn't tell through the agents sunglasses. El didn't move, but watched as Sands suddenly covered his face and clumsily backed away.  
  
Just when he had been certain El was going to move, or make some sort of noise, Sands had felt a stream of blood leaking from one of his empty eye sockets. Sands covered his face with one hand, and felt around with his other.  
  
[Mister!]  
  
Sorry couldn't find any other way to end this chapter. R&R or else I'll cry! J/k, but seriously, review, or somethin, it makes my day. 


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